Boys don't cry
by Dinadette
Summary: The Professor is worried about Berlin's ability to respect the rules when he'll be in charge of the operations. He has some disturbing intel about how Berlin treats hostages, and humans. He wants to know if it is true. He hears much more than he cares to, and pays for his curiosity. I don't know whether this is smut or character study. Seriously. SECOND CHAPTER UP!
1. Chapter 1

It had been haunting the Professor for a long, long time. At first he avoided thinking about it, but there were more and more stories, and he couldn't convince himself they were just that, stories. He couldn't exactly allow just anyone in the Casa de Papel. So, some days before the beginning of the training, he called Berlin and told him they had to talk. The guy didn't take it seriously, he never did. But when he arrived at the Professor's home and he didn't suggest a drink or some casual socializing, he knew something was wrong.

« We have to talk, Berlin. I have been hearing things… ». The Professor begins awkwardly, unsure if he wants to stand up or sit down in the old school living room. He finally selects to sit on the couch, and invites Berlin with a gesture. The man follows.

« You're been hearing things… Voices ? Like, do we have a Joan of Arc here ? ». He laughs, self satisfied. He never takes things seriously until they're ready to explode.

« I've been reading disturbing stories about your previous heist, and the one before, and… It seems you do things to people. ». The Professor tries to breathe, in and out.

« Oh, that ? Yes. I've killed people. Only occasionally casualties and innocents, but those too. I don't think you want to hear about it, but… », he shrugs, his gaze still frozen.

The Professor is annoyed at being so easily read. Yes, he is sensitive to graphic details. But he is worried about worse than that.

« I also hear… »

« I have to keep them afraid, terrorized even. I'll do what it takes. I don't mind. I'm not afraid of blood, though some are. Someone's gotta man up ». The barb hurts.

« Oh right, right… Big Bad Berlin isn't afraid of getting dirty hands. But that's not what I mean, and you know it. I saw footage. Your third heist, if I'm not mistaken. Before disappearing, you… grabbed a woman's hair, and you kissed her ? What the hell was that about ? ». The Professor is angry. Hostages are to be respected. He's jealous too, somehow, but he's not certain why.

« Wow wow wow, calm down, Professor Perfect. First, that was more of a bite », he shrugs, as if it was making things better. « Second, nothing to do with a heist. The admiration in a girl's eyes is just exhilarating, don't you think ? Or maybe you have no idea because despite all your plans, you're a goody two shoes deep down ». His eyes burn in anger, and in amusement.

« You cannot do any of that inside the house. Not under my supervision. I won't allow it. » Professor is nervous, fidgeting, ill at ease. He doesn't like that they have to discuss this. But he must protect his team, and his hostages, or the whole country will turn on them.

« I need to know exactly. Because leopards don't change their spots, and I don't expect you not to mess up somehow, over days and days of high stress and tension. I understand, I do », he lies through his teeth. « But I need to know… what it is about ». He gestures vaguely.

« You want me to talk about such personal matters, Professor ? I thought no intimacy… ». He laughs bitterly. For Berlin, sex and violence have never been that different. « What do I get if I talk ? »

« You get to participate to the best heist in… »

Berlin interrupts. « I don't care. You need me for that shit. No, if I tell you all – and believe me, I'll give you all the details that will hurt and haunt and you'll be wanting to beg me to stop but I won't – I want a night I won't forget ever ». There. It is said. Hopefully the Professor will freak out and defuse.

But he doesn't. « A night… ». He finally gets it. « You don't even know who the women who will join us are. And I cannot force any of them to be… ». He stops, on his own. He blushes, deep, and bites his lower lip as he can't hold the man's gaze any longer. Berlin wonders if he has ever thought of it. They've been close to kissing a couple times, or at least he thinks so. But it would really take something important for the Professor to cross that Rubicon. He still avoids his eyes, but he nods. He must really be desperate. Berlin smiles like a predator smelling blood, and his hand finds its way on the Professor's shoulder.

« So let's begin with the girls, since you were the one to bring them up. Ladies first ! It's not an easy task, with them. They hesitate, they play games – not that I don't. In the end most do fall for the bad guy with the very right look. Those who don't, you can push them »… He knows this will disturb the Professor, who attempts to put some distance between them on the couch, as if disgusted. Berlin's grip gets only stronger.

« Oh no no no no… I like that the girls bleed. The no return thing. The tears. Sometimes I imagine one of them is you. I guess most guys feel like an asshole fucking a girl who cries and justifying it with sweet words and promises that it will be ok. And then they dump her and she hurts even more but they can't see it so they don't give a shit. I say the average slut is prettier with tears down her face and, down her legs, blood and…». He mercifully doesn't finish that sentence.

The Professor blanches at the graphic description. He knows Berlin to be like that, though he didn't really label it. Still hearing him remorselessly describing it… Berlin pats down at his hair for an invisible audience.

« Berlin… I didn't know… ». He doesn't say if this is about the man's fantasies about him, or how bad exactly he is. He had to be doing it pretty recently still, he realizes. Berlin pretends he didn't hear him, he is good at that.

« But the boys… The boys… Oh, fuck. They want to prove themselves to you whatever happens they won't bail out or whine. Since you asked – oh, you didn't – I like them better. Their eyes, their mouth, the way they look at you like you're a fucking hero ! Girls have to be courted forever. The dudes can just be wooed with some heroic heist story, then you let them touch your pistol, maybe you teach them to shoot a bit, a good occasion to feel them up, press against them… And they'll be hard for you. So tight and warm and you don't have to play nice ».

Berlin is slightly out of breath, obviously enjoying the memories, and the hurt on the Professor's face. He smiles cynically. « No hot night for me I guess ? », he asks.

« I always keep my promises ». His voice is defeated, though. « You say boys, but you mean… I mean… They're over 18, right ? ». So much sweet hope to shatter.

« I swear, Prof, they're all out of middle school ». He brings a hand up. « Old enough as far as I'm concerned. If they regret giving it to Mister Berlin, then they can chalk it up as a life lesson and thank me for that. Older than I was when… ». He didn't really plan to confide about that, but heck. The Professor cranes his neck up, looks at him, curiosity definitely bordering on the unhealthy. He's not sure he wants to know about that, but…

« No biggy, Professor. Ask away. He was the first to take an interest in me. Taught me how to shoot, how to dress, everything. I had never even kissed a girl, you know. In those times, kids were much more innocent. Parents nowadays want to believe… ». He smirks. « I was probably a tad young, in retrospect, but you know what they say. First you want to be like someone, then you want to be someone, then you just plain want him. He bought me stuff, I had his full, undivided attention. I went dizzy when I smelled his cologne or when he touched me. He told me about the cops he shot down and how much money he stole while he… Of course, in the end, he died ». Berlin shrugs as if he doesn't care. He sees pity and horror in the Professor's gaze, some unhealthy hunger too, and he laughs again.

« Don't tell me you didn't enjoy hearing about that. I could show you, Prof, if you let me. What it was like for me. For those kids. Only a man knows what another man really needs». He's at least half hard by now, from the memories and the Professor's reactions. The other man shivers and, he assumes, hates himself now instead of resenting Berlin. He has to regret asking so many fucking questions that were none of his concern. When Berlin turns to face him, he notices his eyes are red. He's more affected than he would have thought, but he always underestimates how weirdly emotional others are.

« Hey, it's ok. I won't do anything to the high schoolers, you know, not even if… ». He doesn't go on. That lie is difficult, but he does hope to keep to his word this one time. For Prof. « Also, it won't hurt, I'll take it easy with you. Right ? ». He isn't sure this will help. It doesn't.

« I don't deserve anyone taking it easy. I selected you, I taught you, I couldn't save you from who you are ». Professor is taking the moral high way as usual, prefering to see Berlin as a victim. And himself as the messiah. Berlin leans in, whispers at his ear. « I'll be coming back tonight, boss. Won't do anything you don't want me to do, though I'm sure there aren't many of those ». He blows gently on the man's face, close enough for a kiss, but he doesn't. He brings up a hand to caress his cheek instead. « I'll tell you all about my best heist, handsome, though you've probably read up on it. This won't hurt as much as this convo, methinks. ». Berlin will skip on the bloody details, at least until the Professor is close enough to not care. Then he'll see how far he can push, give him the right kind of angst to keep things interesting. He imagines the Professor under him, mouth slack in pleasure, but silent tears running down his face, and he's harder than he has been in years.


	2. Chapter 2

Professor tells himself he hopes he won't come back, he really does. If it is so, though, he should have locked his door, and he didn't. He also shouldn't have been apparently waiting around in his couch, nervous as a girl who knows she's getting fucked for the first time tonight. Berlin tells him so as he prowls into the living room. He notices how well-dressed he is, but this isn't anything new.

« I'm not going to keep you waiting, bella ». His smile, cruel and self satisfied, shouldn't tug at the Professor's heart strings. Professor is disturbed at the adjective, reminded of the Partisan song. His eye brows knit and before he can ask, Berlin laughs in his face. « I was sure you would be sensitive to this word. I called many girls so, you know, but few of them made me hard like you do ». He says it casually, as if explaining why he chose a certain paint for the wall and another one for the bedroom. But the Professor is now beet red and if he was hoping Berlin was just joking about what they have been discussing… He got his answer now.

« So if you have any other question before… ». He lets his voice trail down, knowing the Professor will fill up the sentence.

He says nothing. Berlin keeps pushing, because he is Berlin and it wouldn't be fun if he didn't, or wasn't.

« Maybe you care to know how many people I fucked ? How many people I killed ? ». He makes it sound as if it's almost the same, the shared intimacy, the no return, after all the French call it la petite mort… Prof doesn't seem to agree. His cheeks have burned at the first question, then paled at the second.

« No, no ! », he exclaims, jumping up from the couch in horror. First one isn't his business, and will rile him up. He imagines an insanely, unhealthily important body count, in both cases, but perhaps he is wrong. Men, women, innocents, casualties, wan't this was he said ?

« Oh. You were more curious earlier. Anyhoo. I'm here to show you what I did. No secrets, right ? You told me to be honest… ». His voice is slow and seductive, temptation itself. His gaze is dark, burning, and his pupils are huge already, blown out in need. The two men are face to face, and Professor averts his eyes. He tells himself he hates being watched as if he was some cheap tramp in a bar, but he has a full body shiver anyway.

«So you were the one to bring up the kiss, or the bite. It was quite a small thing, I bet she has forgotten about it already ». He speaks low, soothing, a fucked up bedtime story. His hand pets the Professor's dark hair several times, flattering. Then his cheek. He closes his eyes when fingers explore his lips.

« Open your eyes. She looked at me when… ». He obeys, reluctant. Berlin's wrecked expression draws a moan from his lips. He goes back for the hair. The grip on his hair turns to iron and he hisses in pain. Probably. Before he can do anything, there's a mouth on his own, replacing the fingers, and Berlin didn't lie, it's a bite more than a kiss. He doesn't draw blood, it's not even that painful, but he experiences a jolt of electricity to his groin all the same. Professor ponders if the girl felt the same, then decides that it's a no, and that he is sick.

He feels the Professor's erection when his hand reaches and smirks. « I guess I don't need to let you play with my gun ? ». The double entendre is there all right. « See, I know what I'm taking about. Girls need to be courted, guys don't ». Professor is ashamed of his own reaction. The hand on his groin rubs and presses, appreciating. Button and zipper out of the way, it sneaks inside and teases through the underwear. The Professor's breath catches. Even more when it finds its way under it, skin against skin. Berlin pulls tentatively, making it swell, before starting to use the same rhythm he uses on most guys and on himself.

« If you want to think it's some girl doing you, you can. I don't care ». He spits out girl as if it's an insult, and to him it must be one, at least in some way. « But I don't think you will… And I certainly know what I'm thinking of ». He doesn't tell him precisely, but Professor is clever enough for a guess, and if he prefers to imagine Berlin is envisioning someone else, well, there are guys who like it that way too… The idea amuses him and he almost chuckles as his hand works him quicker and the other man just cannot not gasp and lean into him.

« Good like this ? », he asks, knowing the answer. Professor is embarrassed to reply, certainly. His hips buck on their own, answering the question, but this isn't enough. Berlin stops at once. « We can stop any time you like, remember ? ». His voice is sugary sweet, and he could almost believe that Berlin cares about consent, a lot. He refuses to think of the stories Berlin shared earlier, and whispers « Good » into the other man's shirt.

« I was certain you would like it », Berlin brags, his hand mercifully picking up again. From afar it could look like two men embracing, two brothers even but they both know far better. Berlin takes hold of the other man's chin and firmly have him look to his face. There won't be any lying to yourself, pretend you're not that into it, bullshit tonight. The Professor doesn't tell him how handsome he finds him, but his gaze is compliment enough.

« So Prof, you understand what I meant with it takes a man to know what another needs ? Girls can't jerk you off for shit. I do like their sweet mouth if there's no expert around ». He laughs, not so nicely. His kisses flutter against the Professor's skin, his cheek, his neck, open mouth and sensual. He finds himself agreeing, vaguely. « I don't care to do that to them either. Girls can come from my cock or just… Boys make such nice noises though, just like you ». He whispers against his throat. Prof barely hears him over his own heart beat. He wonders what Berlin looks like when he's getting head and he grabs at him, whine and comes over his hand.

« Good. Good boy… I got you». The man's eyes don't leave his own, and he brings his hand to his mouth. Professor isn't innocent enough not to understand. He rises to the occasion and licks gently, tasting himself. Berlin mutters something that sounds like fuck and kisses him, not gently at all, as he presses an erection against his thigh.

Silently he turns the Professor to face away from him, still kissing at his neck but from the back.

He thinks it's only due to self hatred that he allows the man to undo his belt and pull down his pants and underwear. He braces himself for pain as he feels fingers pocking and prodding. It's only uncomfortable at first, only turns worse when several of them are used and then something bigger and blunt breaks the barrier and he bites his lip hard not to scream. He doesn't immediately start moving, probably Berlin's version of a gentleman, but still does it much too soon. It hurts like hell, but it's not all that it does. It does take forever to realize that, though.

« Are you showing me the boys or the girls now ? », he asks, lost. He can't believe what they are doing, what he is saying. Berlin obviously wants to laugh.

« Sometimes those are plenty similar… ».

Professor nearly panics at the sensation. He's full, stretched, and he feels something warm, something he shouldn't be feeling. His stomach lurches. « I think I am… ». He cannot bring himself to say it.

« Seems like you are bleeding a little bit. Don't worry. I told you you would experience what I do to them all… ». Berlin is probably right that it is not dangerous, but Professor is upset he takes nothing seriously. Berlin flatters his side, his hand trailing down to his hip. « As I tell them, next time will be easier ». _Next time ?_ Oh God… He cannot allow a next time. He is going to state so but Berlin moves and he can only whine in need. He's stroking him deep inside, just on some place he never knew was a thing and definitely is one now.

« They normally don't enjoy it so quick, but you're doing well ! ». Professor wishes the disturbing enthusiasm would be faked. Two hands seize his hips, massaging the skin, then downward to his buttocks where they pinch hard. That's when he realizes he should hate it, and he's hard again.

« Berlin… Can you… Touch me ? ». Professor hates himself for this. Hates Berlin even more for tsk tsking him.

« You won't need it, I can feel that. So tight, fluttering for me ». His voice excited him more than it should. « When I'm through with you, you'll be so gorgeous, leaking… ». Professor squeezes his eyes shut as if it would prevent him from seeing that.

« You will hardly remember the pain », he croons, « Or only the pleasant side of it ».

« There's no pleasant side to it ! », he protests. Berlin chuckles darkly. « You really think so, Prof ? What's with the constant boner ?». He is happy he cannot see his face.

« Do you want me to stop ? You told me not to take it easy». He teases more than he asks. Professor says nothing at first, then chants a mantra of no, no, no. So Berlin keeps stroking, keeps telling. « I wasn't going to stop, just for the record ». His voice is only slightly affected. « I told you, those who don't give in… You can insist a little bit. That's what a real man does ». Professor winces at the thought but doesn't bother trying to convince the man currently fucking him.

« It hurts… », he says softly, maybe hoping to guilt trip him.

« I've imagined you like that for so long… ». It's not like Berlin to fess up, but for some reason he does, voice almost broken. « So good, so tight… I want to see you ». He is surprised again, he assumed that Berlin wouldn't do anything tender, wouldn't want the Professor to see his face when he was close either. He attempts to look at him, over his shoulder. He doesn't realize how seductive the gesture is.

« No », Berlin pants, and just like that he grabs his shoulders and pushes him off the desk, toward the couch. Professor can hardly stand, the pain is still there but he's hardly feeling it. Without thinking he begins to settle on his stomach, his pants still low on his thighs. Two strong hands grip at him and turn him on his back. « I want to see your face when I'm inside you ». For once this fantasy sounds strangely human. He grabs Berlin's sleeves and pulls him down, as if afraid that he would change his mind. He is rewarded with a kiss, sloppy and deep and messy, and he instinctively tries to push him away when the pain is back where he is taking him.

« Shhhhh, beautiful, it's ok ». Berlin's face is so close to his, and they can stare at each other. It makes everything more painful, more raw, more real. « This is what he told me ». Professor doesn't understand at once, then remember. It is difficult to imagine young Berlin, not even in high school, and some older version of the not quite gentleman robber stealing his innocence, or what remained of it. It is uncanny but he seems to guess what Professor is thinking about.

« I told you. I regret nothing. Not even that it hurt. Especially not that it hurt. Good things should hurt a bit, you don't think ? ». He muses to himself. He keeps fucking the Professor, gently going for a quicker pace. « I asked him to jerk me off, as you did ». Professor frowns at the word. « It was what I was used to, his hands on me, my mouth on him… Ya' know. I loved to suck him off, to see his expression when he came ». He is clearly out of breath now, and Professor is too, even without speaking. He is thrusting back against Berlin, his hands rubbing and exploring his torso through the material. His cock is stuck between their bodies and constantly stimulated. He's starting to believe he might well come untouched.

Once again, Berlin seems to catch on the drift of his thoughts. « But he didn't do it. He told me I wouldn't need it, I just needed him deep inside me, and his voice, and I just rubbed against him. Came so hard, probably fucked up his suit ». Professor is lost. He's been lost for a long time but he's lost, lost, lost. Their suits. They're going to be ruined too because it is going to be everywhere. It had been so long… He breathes hard, harder from the embarrassment, and attempts to look away.

« Don't be ashamed. I was ashamed too, can you imagine ? The first time we came back from a heist. I was high on adrenaline, everything. He took me in his arms and I was just so hard and there was no way he couldn't realize. I tried to get away, he held me. Fuck, you're tight… ». He pauses for an instant. « Told me it was all right, it was normal. It was success, youth, adrenaline. Told me all the shit my asshole father would never. That I had potential, that I would be the best. That I was a good boy ». He pronounces the last word as if he's calling Professor that. « His mouth was burning on my face, I trembled like crazy when he undid my zipper ». He moans from the memory, or the Professor, and he remembers how quick he came that first time.

He looks down to the man almost tenderly before he goes on. « I promised you my best heist. You read up on it, I am sure, but I can give you the stats. 120 millions. 5 cops, could probably have done better ». He pauses, then resumes gently taking him. The niceness of it is unbearable. Prof wants it to hurt. He also wants to know whether better means more or fewer victims, but won't ask. « That young guy bled out in my arms. Didn't mean too, a freak accident when you play hero. His mouth was soft and his blood was warm ». He is obviously nostalgic. Professor is nauseated, he decides he won't stay hard hearing of this but he does, he does. A man caresses his cheek. « A good boy I'm sure, didn't get much of a taste but hey, I didn't let him die without some human contact ».

He will not cry. He will not cry. He is still repeating that to himself as his face is drenched in a rain of tears. He cannot let Berlin in, it will be a catastrophe if he does. His mind's eye only envisions this too well. « He didn't refuse me, boss. He could have at least tried. He didn't. Or if he did, I didn't notice ». Berlin. Berlin wouldn't notice anything that wasn't to his liking. Or maybe the kid was desperate, not fully there anymore. Perhaps, much like the Professor, he told himself to hell with that, life is crap anyway. « You're so handsome… ». Only this praise brings him back to a reality he hates but his body loves and craves. « I've imagined you just like this… ». Like the boy, or under him, in tears ? He refuses to ask. He even sobs into their embrace as Berlin mercifully speeds up. He only stops crying so openly when a hand finds his cock, sneaking between them, and massages it. His hips buck, it all goes faster and faster, his legs open wider on their own and he feels Berlin smirk against his skin, peppering his face with sickeningly loving kisses, perverse in their gentleness. He comes first, almost painfully, immediately followed by his lieutenant.

As he is recovering, he hears him whisper « I told you the bloody details wouldn't bother you, in the end ».

The only reason he doesn't exclude the man from his plan is that, fucked up as he is, he can't be worse than himself, whose best orgasm was experienced hearing of Berlin's exploits.


End file.
